


Little Hearts and Sucky Poems.

by watfordslarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Childhood, Cute, Fluff and Smut, Hickeys, Kissing, Love Poems, M/M, boys making out, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, rough kissing :), stylinson, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watfordslarry/pseuds/watfordslarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, at nine he sits down and rubs his hands together, ready to start writing. And at close to eleven he’s gone through eight papers, both front and back. Switched the color of his pen five times, and has now taken on the art of crumpling up the used papers and tossing them into the wastebasket a few feet away.</p><p>Or where it's Valentines Day and Louis tries writing a love poem for Harry even though he seems to not be able to write for shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Hearts and Sucky Poems.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you all like this!! It's not that long I know but I liked it enough to post it lol so enjoy!

The thing is, Harry’s a writer. Not necessarily a story writer, but poems and songs and those kinds of writings. Poems are his specialty, Louis likes to think. Even if his little songs are spectacular, a lot of the poems are directed to him, so he has a soft spot for those.

Another thing is, Louis is not a writer. Definitely not a poet. So, when he goes to his desk one night with a little stack of lined paper and different colored pens, he has a little trouble writing a poem. For Harry, that is, since there’s no other reason for him needing to. It’s just that Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and despite the things he got and is going to set up, he wants to do something original. He kind of needs to, honestly, since his sister told him that he needs to do something original and special. Which made Louis apprehensive as to thinking that if he didn’t do just that then his whole Valentine’s  _ thing _ would be taken in as stupid.

So, at nine he sits down and rubs his hands together, ready to start writing. And at close to eleven he’s gone through eight papers, both front and back. Switched the color of his pen five times, and has now taken on the art of crumpling up the used papers and tossing them into the wastebasket a few feet away. He doesn’t understand how Harry does it, but he assumes that it comes to him naturally.

Louis tried writing of how he’ll stop loving him once the plastic flower dies, but… it’s a plastic flower, so he thought it sounded stupid. So, the only successful line he comes out with was about the sun and the moon, and how he’ll stop loving him once they meet. Except they never will, and Harry knows that, so he thinks it’ll work. Or maybe, he thinks, that his love is larger than the size of the great blue that reaches green. It’s all cheesy, and Louis knows Harry is cheesy but he’s not, and he doesn’t like cheesy except for when Harry does it. So, he can’t do cheesy. He’s broken many rules before, but he doesn’t break his own rules.

The only problem is that the one little thing he ended up with wasn’t enough for a poem. Which meant that by the time eleven thirty struck, he had a measly acrostic poem that he didn’t know what to do with.

 

> **H** _ as my heart and bloody soul with those goddamn dimples. _
> 
> **A** _ ce at making me feel good or better, not only in bed. _
> 
> **R** _ avishing in all ways. _
> 
> **R** _ adiant smile that i’ll never get tired of. _
> 
> **Y** _ ou’ll never know what his favorite way to wear his hair is because he only likes when I do it ;) _
> 
>  

Okay, so he laughs out loud at the finished product. Mainly because he remembers the last time he did an acrostic poem was when he was in grade six, but also because to him the poem is quite shitty. So he gives up for the night, and rolls right into bed, leaving the mess of a desk to clean tomorrow. And when his head hit the pillow, and he dug his hand under the pillow under his head like how he does every night, finding a little felt heart made him grin and scrunch his nose up.

 

* * *

 

When Louis wakes up the next day, he’s so glad that it’s a Sunday, and that he has off the next day due to President’s day. He’s really glad he attends a school in the USA at the moment, and that Harry does as well or else they wouldn’t of met…. thanks America.

But that’s not the point. The point is, is that as soon as he get’s up, he see’s a little red heart stuck to his closet, something he hadn’t noticed the night before. So he peels it off, and smirks, pursing his lips. Who other than Harry would place little hearts around his flat.

Louis’ proven right when he opens the closet to get dressed an hour later. He’s supposed to meet up with his boyfriend soon, but the text he gets right as he’s entering his bedroom that says  _ take your time _ tells him that the little devil planned something. The first giveaway is the felt heart taped to the dark red sweater that hangs from a hanger, and then a couple more on the various pairs of black jeans. Which tells Louis that Harry’s picking his outfit out for him, since he knows that Louis always has to pick out his own jeans since some fit different than others.

Louis sent a picture of his heart covered vans. Except not the black ones, the white ones that Harry had drawn little doodles on, the little skateboarding guy, and little butterflies. Louis even had added input on that one and added a smiley face. Anyway, he sent a picture of those vans with the hearts on them and asked Harry if he should wear his black ones. Just to be a little shit.

Harry responds with the middle finger emoji and a heart, and then Louis get’s dressed. He doesn’t know how the hell his boyfriend managed to be so clandestine as to get these goddamn hearts everywhere when he barely left his place the day before, but he decides not to question Harry’s ways, and enjoys finding a pack of his favorite tea packets sitting out next to his special rainbow mug that he and Harry had both gotten a while back. And the little box of chocolates he finds slotted next to his cereal. He even had found a brand new Big Time Rush singing toothbrush on his bathroom counter earlier. It’s not in any way relevant, but Louis had found himself having trouble  _ not _ laughing while he brushed his teeth with it.

When he gets into his car, there’s a heart on the feet warmer button, because if anyone’s been in the car with him in the winter or just the winter in general than they know he always complains about his toes being cold. So he presses it, and drives off to the one little cafe place where he and Harry agreed to meet up.

The wind is vicious against his bitten red cheeks, and the goosebumps are never endless on Louis’ skin. Which is why he runs out of his car once he arrives, and smacks himself right into Harry, who’s standing out front waiting for him. He presses his face into the taller man’s fuzzy jacket, curling his fists up in between both of their bodies.

“The hell are you out here for?” he exclaims, pulling on Harry to get him inside, “fucking freezing outside,” he shivers.

Harry latches his hand on Louis’ arm, showing him the little high top table he claimed in the back. “Saw your car pull up. Wanted to just wait for you,” he says, and tugs on Louis to halt to a stop. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he smiles.

Louis’ face breaks out into a wide smile, “Happy Valentine’s Day. Love you,” he tells him, pressing a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

Harry scrunches his nose, pecking his lips again, “Love you,” he replies happily.

Louis hums against his lips, smiling softly, “Got all your things this morning,” he can feel his face flush a light pink, to which could easily be passed off from the cold.

Harry doesn’t say anything about it though, only smirks and pulls away, “I can tell. This sweater makes your eyes pop,” he says, quickly kissing his cheek before going up to the counter of the cafe. Louis smiles to himself, because, well, it’s Harry. He has Harry, the one and only. Which always makes him think of how the heck he get so fortuitous with this one discovery of Harry Styles.

But he keeps his thoughts to himself, and waits for his boyfriend to come back with his tea and only one scone since they’re always so big so they share it. And the two spend a splendid lunch together knowing that they don’t get to do it very often.

 

* * *

 

When Harry goes over Louis’ place that night Louis has everything set up. He has out those couple of candles that Harry likes, with the lights only slightly dimmed. The table has been made, and he cooked dinner nice hot and ready for when he would arrive. And when he does, he’s taken away with what Louis had put together. It’s not much, but Harry doesn’t want a lot. He wants simple, he likes simple. Simple is effective. Simple is calm and meaningful to him.

“This is amazing, Lou,” Harry smiles, sitting down at the table. He’s dressed in his silky pinkish button down, with a blazer over it. Quite honestly, Louis can’t wait to get the blazer and other layers off of him, but he doesn’t say so. He just serves their special dish with a smile on his face when seeing Harry’s light up.

“Did I do good enough?” he asks with a light tone, winking playfully. Although it was a little snide comment that didn’t mean anything, Harry still nodded.

“Absolutely,” he grins, smiling behind his glass of wine when he sips. Louis is too, but he licks his lips to hide it. “Usually don’t do much for Valentine’s Day,” Harry shrugs, “well, used to. When I was in high school. Then again I’m pretty sure there weren’t any gay guys in my school except for me.”

Louis speaks when he lifts his fork up to his lips, “That’s because you were waiting for me,” he smirks, beaming when Harry chews his food with blushed cheeks. He continues. “You were waiting for me in Lowes to trip and fall because I was trying too hard to reach the right bedspread I wanted. So then you could step in and be tall and get it for me,” he points out cockily.

Harry finishes chewing, and points at him with his fork, “And can we acknowledge who convinced you not to get that said duvet?” he raises his eyebrows.

Louis cringes, because okay, he has him on that one. If not for Harry he would be stuck with a red duvet that looked like blood. Not his thing. He’s much better with the navy blue one he has. Especially since he didn’t know then that it would bring out the color in the curly haired boy’s eyes when he woke up curled up under it with him. “Yeah, I owe you on that one.”

Harry puckers his lips in disagreement, and gives a shake of his head, “No, you don’t,” he sends a fond look, “as cheesy as it is, being able to be with you is enough,” the comment makes Louis’ insides warm up, “plus your dick, that’s a good one, too,” he murmurs before taking a mouthful of food and looking up at his boyfriend. Louis almost chokes on his wine, and shakes his head, watching Harry look up at him through hooded eyes.

So, yes, dinner ends just a bit earlier than planned, since after a few more dirty comments later neither of them can take it anymore. Which is why they both rush into Louis’ bedroom, only taking a moment to take in the scent of the different candles and the rose petals towards the outside the bed that Louis took two hours to perfect.

But then Louis’ moving Harry backwards until his back hit the wall, taking the younger’s face in his hands. Harry’s breath hitches. He can feel his boyfriend’s breath on his mouth, and when Louis connects their awaiting lips he sighs into his mouth, kissing back.

Louis holds his wrists, pinning them against the wall. Harry can’t help but buck his hips when Louis’ lips attach to his neck, wanting some friction in the restrain of his jeans. He moans, and connects their lips again. Louis’ heart is beating fast, thumping hard against his chest with every move of their lips, every touch of their hands against skin.

Louis’ hands move down Harry’s sides to the back of his thighs. He bends down a bit, and then picks him up with ease. Harry circles his legs around his waist and presses his chest to Louis’, who walks towards the bed, and drops his boyfriend down onto the mattress. His hands slide up Harry’s torso, unbuttoning the shirt but leaving it on. The silky look and touch of it makes his skin look soft and pale. Their lips come unattached, and Louis’ shirt has come off as well.

Louis buries his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, kissing just below his ear. He sucks on the skin, nibbling and making the younger boy whine at the feeling. Though just when Harry reaches down to grip the duvet, he hears a crumpling sound where his hand lands. “What’s this,” he chuckles, bringing the paper up. Louis pulls away, looking at what Harry found.

“Shit,” he pants, “uh, was trying to write a poem, last night. Didn’t uhm, go so well, but uh, I-I don’t know how it got there, I gave up on it,” he explains, peering at Harry’s expression, which was a smile that faced towards the wrinkled paper.

“This is the sweetest thing,” Harry lets the paper fall, and brings Louis’ head down to kiss him hard, “no one’s wrote me a poem,” he murmurs, smiling against his lips.

Louis hums, “I tried. Came out shit though,” he says, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry disagrees, a lot, but he wants to continue, so he just whispers a quick “I love it” before pulling Louis back onto him. Louis has a different idea though and flips them over, letting Harry straddle his thighs

“My god, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, smiling at the faint pink that dusts over his boyfriend’s cheeks. He gives a soft tug on his hair, bringing Harry down to kiss him. And yeah, having Harry straddle him is a really good idea, Louis decides, groaning when the younger boy grinds down.

“Happy Valentine’s Day?” Louis pants, bucking his hips up.

Harry nods frantically, throwing his head back, “Yeah, yeah, very happy,” he barely gets any words out, and lets out a whine when Louis flips them back over, reaching over to the bottle on his night stand.


End file.
